


For Always

by sconelover



Series: Indian Holidays [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: But also you might cry, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Indian Holidays, POV Penelope Bunce, POV Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow Friendship, Penelope Bunce is a Good Friend, Post-Canon, Rakhi, Raksha Bandhan, Tying Rakhi, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Watford (Simon Snow), watford-era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25699900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover
Summary: Today is Raksha Bandhan, an Indian holiday that celebrates the sacred love between siblings.Ten years ago, Penelope Bunce drove halfway across England to find someone very important.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow
Series: Indian Holidays [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018413
Comments: 49
Kudos: 93





	For Always

**August 2010**

**Penny**

“Don’t forget Raksha Bandhan is next Tuesday,” Mum says. She’s paging through her calendar, a pen caught between her teeth. “We can go pick out rakhis for your brothers today. Go upstairs and remind them to put some money aside.”

“Premal!” I call as I clomp up the stairs. “Pacey! Pip!”

“Studying,” Premal grumbles from behind his closed door. I poke my head into his room anyway.

“Raksha Bandhan’s next Tuesday. Do you have 21 quid for me?”

“21?” he asks. “Last year it was only 11.”

“Well, I’m older this year, so I should get more,” I proclaim, and he sighs. “Mum said you could get me a nice gift instead, if you felt like going through the effort…”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ve got your 21 quid. Go away.”

“You need money for Priya, too.”

“No, just you, you’re the eldest,” he argues.

“It’s for all sisters.”

“Shove off,” he says, and turns back to his reading.

“Premal,” I scold. “This is a day of love between siblings. Act like it.”

“I’ll act like it on Tuesday.”

I sigh and go talk to Pacey, who excitedly waves a red envelope for me, and Pip, who dumps his entire piggy bank out on his bed. “Mum will give you money,” I tell him, but he shakes his head, already slowly counting out coins. It’s totally endearing.

Then I tell Priya to get dressed and head back downstairs. We both tag along with Mum on some errands before we visit an Indian shop in town—they sell some clothes, little trinkets and decorations, and currently have a full display of rakhis.

Priya grabs three at random, drops them on the counter, and promptly wanders away to try on skirts. Mum picks out a few classy-looking ones—red and orange, as most rakhis are, with clean lines and small golden _Om_ symbols in the centre. But she only has one brother. “Who do you tie a rakhi to?” I ask her. “Well, besides Mihir _Mama.”_

She hands the rakhis to the lady at the counter, who carefully wraps them in paper. “Two of my first cousins who don’t have sisters of their own,” she says. “I’ll mail these to them. Or send a bird.”

I laugh at the image of a bird showing up on my uncle’s doorstep, bright red string in its mouth.

“And Aunty Sarah,” she says. Dad’s sister. “I told her about the tradition when your father and I got married, and she loved it. You or Priya can tie one to Dad for her because she lives too far away.”

“And the last one?” I ask.

It’s the only rakhi she’s picked out that’s absolutely garish—a red string with a neon yellow puffy sunburst sitting on it, a large Krishna perched in the middle. She laughs. “This one’s not very serious.”

Maybe I should get one like that for Premal. He’d be livid, but he’d _have_ to wear it until it fell off.

“I couldn’t tell…” I say. Mum shakes her head at me. She keeps telling me to stop picking up sarcasm from Premal, but it’s just so _effective._

“My grandmum used to tell me stories about school in India,” she says. “On Raksha Bandhan, if a boy liked you but you didn’t like him back, you could tie a rakhi to him.”

“That’s brutal,” I say, giggling. “Brother-zoned.”

“Exactly,” she says. “I had a friend in school who kept asking me out, and one year I ambushed him and spelled a rakhi onto his wrist with **stay put.** ” She laughs. “He couldn’t get it off for months! I still send him one every year as a joke. His wife thinks it’s hilarious.”

“I didn’t know you could tie them to people who aren’t related to you. Does it always have to be a joke?”

“Of course you can,” Mum says. “And no, it can be serious. It typically is.”

I hand her the rakhis I’ve picked out for Premal and Pacey. I’ve found a disgustingly bright one for Premal in neon versions of Watford colours—purple, green, and red. It has a large, sparkly flower in the centre. He’s going to hate it. 

“Raksha Bandhan essentially translates to ‘bond of protection,’” she continues. “It’s about a sacred relationship between you and someone you see as family—it’s symbolic.”

“Like adopting someone as your brother?”

“Like showing him that you’re going to be there for him, as if you were actually related,” she says. “It’s a promise, one that can transcend the boundaries of family.” 

I know someone who could use a family. Who could use a sister; someone to love him and show him he’s not alone.

That he won’t ever be alone again.

“Can I buy one more?” I ask.

* * *

**Simon**

I’m having a dream about Penny.

I don’t usually let myself think about Penny during the summers—I end up missing her so much it aches deep in my stomach—but here she is in my dream, inviting me to come over to her house.

 _I can’t,_ I try to say. _I’m stuck here, far away from you._

She’s saying something about _Tuesday,_ and coming to find me. As much as I’d love that, I don’t think she’ll be able to get all the way to Leeds. (And I wouldn’t want her to—it’s dreadful here.)

And then it hits me, in a rush— _magic._

I’d not forgotten. But I’d not exactly kept it at the front of my mind, either.

I swear, I really could use a guidebook or something. How am I supposed to know if it’s even possible to appear in someone’s dreams using magic? I’d not be surprised if it was.

I can’t respond to her, and eventually I drift off into a deep sleep again. 

She shows up at noon the following day. I’m so shocked to see her face that I think I’m dreaming again. Or maybe the Humdrum is messing with me. But no, she’s there outside the window of the care home, flesh and blood.

I pop open the window. “Penny?”

“You look a fright,” she says in greeting, and I could nearly cry at the sound of her voice. 

“What… what are you doing here?”

“Do you want to come over for a few days?”

“I, uh–” I’ve been to her house before, but her Mum doesn’t like me very much. “Did- did your Mum say it was okay?”

“Yes!” She nods excitedly. “There’s an Indian holiday coming up, and I want you to be there.”

“Oh. Okay.” I don’t want to intrude on anything with her family, but if she came to get me, it must be important. “Well, I can’t leave unless someone over age 16 checks me out.”

Penny gestures to a waiting car, where a very disgruntled-looking Premal is sitting in the drivers’ seat. “I thought of everything,” she says.

Five minutes later, I’m sitting in the backseat with my things. I can hardly believe my luck—a whole three days with the Bunces, and if it’s a holiday, there’ll be a lot of food, too. I can’t believe Penny found me—she said her Mum helped her cast a series of powerful finding spells. And then when she got to Leeds, she just followed the pull of my magic.

We’d be catching up, but Premal’s making me nervous, so we mostly just sit in silence after that. He casts an advanced spell, **Make way for the king!,** and then hits the car with a **Zoom Zoom,** which gets us to Hounslow in less than two hours. “You owe me,” he says flatly to Penny when we get to her house, and she promises anything.

I almost feel bad about the whole thing, but I’m given a surprisingly warm welcome in the Bunce household and ushered straight into the shower (which is fair). I’m a stammering, blushing mess around all of them—I get this way around most adults—but they’re kind and they let me take second and third helpings of everything at dinner, so maybe they don’t mind.

Later, Penny and I are lying flat on our backs on her bed, and I’m so happy to be here I think I could start floating. And then I _do_ start floating, because of _course,_ and she just laughs and tugs me back down to the bed.

Penny always says not to waste time with _thank you_ and _sorry,_ but I thank her anyway, best I can. And then I ask about the holiday I’m here for.

She untwists the string around her large purple ring and reties it. “It’s called _Raksha Bandhan,”_ she says.

“Ruck… bun… what?”

She snorts and casts **See what I mean!** , then writes out the words in the air for me with the tip of her finger. “Raksha Bandhan,” she says again. _Ruck-shah bun-dhun._ “It’s a festival where sisters tie a sacred thread called a _rakhi_ on their brothers’ wrists to celebrate the bonds of love between siblings.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

She looks at me like I’m not getting it, and I’m _not._ Penny always thinks that just because she knows something, it should be obvious to everyone else.

“I wanted you to be here for it,” she says.

“So I can… watch you tie _rakhis_ to your brothers?”

She shoves me. “No, dummy. I want to tie one on you.”

I sit up, trying to comprehend what that means. “But I’m not your brother.”

Penny sits up as well, twists at her ring again. “No, you’re not.”

“So?”

She swallows, suddenly solemn. “My mum said that… it’s not just about real family relationships. It’s– you can tie one to show someone that you’re going to be with them. Through thick and thin.”

Something tugs in my chest. “Penny…”

“It’s to create a promise for life,” she continues. And then she looks at me and smiles. “There’s a spell for it, too, in Sanskrit—Mum said it’s really difficult, but it creates a Magickal bond.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I know Penny loves me, she’s told me before, but this feels like something else. Something deeper than I’ve ever had before.

“You don’t need more siblings,” I say. Thickly.

“I want one,” she replies fiercely. “One that I choose.”

I swallow a lump in my throat.

“Anyway, it doesn’t mean you’re my brother. It just symbolises…” She grasps my hand tight. “That I love you. Just as much as I would if we were really family.”

“I love you too,” I say, almost automatically, because the meaning of what she’s saying here is overwhelming. Her hand is warm in mine and she leans into me, like she always does. 

Penny’s the closest thing I have to family. 

_One that I choose._

I’m technically the Chosen One, but it’s misleading. No one ever chooses me. It’s all I ever wanted, to be chosen.

And here Penny is, choosing me, when I didn’t even ask.

* * *

**Simon**

Penny’s mum says we have to do the ceremony before breakfast, so we all get up early to catch Professor Bunce before he goes to work. Priya practically bounds down the stairs, yelling something about getting money.

I turn to Penny. “Was I supposed to get you something?”

“No,” she says.

Her brothers are all holding envelopes. “Are you sure?”

“It’s fine, Simon. It’s not like you have money to give me, anyway. And I’d never ask you.”

I roll my eyes. She’s blunt, but she’s right. “It’s not about asking if it’s an actual part of the ceremony.”

“It’s really not what it’s about,” she says. “The symbolism is more important.”

“Fine. But I’m still getting you a gift when we get back to Watford.” 

She grins and shakes her head at me. “Fine.”

Professor Bunce emerges from the garage door, bearing a large silver platter piled high with colourful objects. She’s wearing Indian clothes; we all are. Priya’s gone all out, draped in vivid pink with a frankly alarming amount of sequins. Penny’s opted for a simple purple skirt and top, and she wrangled me into one of Premal’s old things—a sun-yellow _kurta,_ which is basically a really long shirt, and some gold poofy pants. They’re kind of itchy.

Penny’s mum sets the platter down on the kitchen table, then hands Penny and Priya each a long gossamer scarf. The other Professor Bunce comes clattering down the stairs a moment later, his glasses askew as he attempts to free up his arm where it’s twisted in his _kurta._

I think this is the first time I’ve seen the entire Bunce family in one room together.

We all gather around the table, and Mitali passes the tray to Penny and Priya. I move away awkwardly to stand near Penny’s brothers. 

“Put those on your head,” she says, and the sisters drape the patterned fabric that Mitali gave them over their hair. “Pip, you first, love.” 

Pip bounds over—he’s so cute, and his cheeks nearly bounce when he hoists himself into the chair. He’s terrifyingly independent for a toddler. He examines the tray. “Can I eat sweets now?”

“After your sisters tie your _rakhi,”_ Mitali counsels.

The platter is laid out really prettily, with six tealights, some rice, red powder, flowers, a small bowl of water, and a pile of what I’m assuming are sweets. (They don’t look like any sweets I’ve seen before—they’re a vivid yellow colour, and some have silver on top.) 

In the middle are seven _rakhis._ Most of them are simple red and orange thread. One is really, really ugly—it looks like a Watford uniform gone horribly wrong. (I don’t know if it’s okay for me to think it’s ugly. It’s still sacred, right?)

Mitali lights the candles with a magickal flame at the tip of her finger. She guides Priya through the motions first. First, she drapes the other end of the scarf that Priya’s wearing over Pip’s head. Priya dips her finger in water and makes a paste out of the red powder, then presses a dot to the center of Pip’s eyebrows. Then, she takes a few pieces of rice and sticks them to the mark.

She picks up a _rakhi_ covered in little pom-poms and ties it onto Pip’s tiny wrist. He opens his mouth eagerly as she feeds him one of the sweets.

“One more!” he says. She laughs and feeds him another.

“You’ll ruin your breakfast,” Penny says.

Pip passes over a small envelope with _Priya_ scribbled on the front in crayon; it jangles when she picks it up. “Thank you,” she says.

“Do _pao paro,”_ Mitali says, and they both stand up. Pip bends over to touch Priya’s feet, and she kind of lays her hand on top of his head in a blessing. Then he grins and jumps into her arms, sending her stumbling back a few steps. 

“I love you!” he nearly yells, and she laughs and kisses his chubby cheeks.

He repeats the process with Penny, and then Pacey and Premal get their turns. (Premal gets the horrendously ugly _rakhi_ , and I have to hold back a laugh at the look he gives Penny. She’s ridiculously smug as he hands over his cash-filled envelope.) Penny ties one to her dad as well. And then it’s my turn.

I shuffle forward, feeling self-conscious in front of everyone. It feels intrusive that I’m here, like Penny shouldn’t have invited me into this ritual that’s so intimate, so clearly meant for families.

I sit down in front of her and she smiles at me reassuringly as she reaches forward and drapes the scarf over my head. I can feel her family’s eyes on me.

I guess at the same time it’s nice—almost overwhelmingly so—that she _wants_ to do this in front of everyone. To make this claim where people can see it. To show that she’s not afraid of me, that she’s not ashamed of me, that she wants me to be such an important part of her life.

I don’t really trust myself to speak as she goes through the ritual, and I don’t think I’m supposed to anyway. She reaches for my right hand and turns my wrist over, unfolding a deep red _rakhi._

Mitali clears her throat. “Does Simon know what this all means? I’d be happy to explain.”

Penny pauses where she’s wound the thread around my wrist. “I can do it,” she says, and then looks up at me, holding my eyes. Her gaze is intense; it always is, but especially right now. “This _rakhi_ signifies a sacred bond between a brother and a sister,” she starts. The room seems to fade away a bit at the edges as she speaks. “But it’s more than just that. It means that we promise to love and protect each other, for always.”

_For always._

“It means that I’m not going anywhere,” she says softly. “That even though you don’t have a family of your own, you’ll always have me.”

I’m not going to tear up in front of the whole Bunce family; it would be so embarrassing. I swallow a few times and clench my jaw, using an old trick to stop myself from crying. Penny sees right through me, and just smiles and squeezes my hand as I nod.

I look down at our hands. Her ring flashes as she carefully ties the _rakhi_ onto my wrist, then turns it back over so I can look. “Thanks,” I finally manage out.

She feeds me a piece of the dessert, and then I stand up and copy what her brothers did, bending down to touch my fingertips to her feet. I feel the gentle weight of her hand on my head.

I straighten up, and she hugs me tightly. There’s a turmoil of emotions inside me, but as I bury my face in her hair, one thing is crystal clear. _I have a sister now._

Someone who has promised to always be by my side. Someone who will never abandon me.

And Penelope Bunce never breaks her promises.

* * *

**August 2011**

**Simon**

It’s the full moon today—I only know because the Mage told me to be on alert for werewolves. (Apparently there are a lot of them in Birmingham.) So naturally I jump out of my skin when I hear a tapping on the window in the middle of the night.

I do a quick scan of the room to make sure everyone else is still asleep, then whisper the incantation for my sword and creep toward the window. My heart pounds in my throat as I run through my options—if I have to fight, I’ll cut through the screen and jump out so nothing comes in here and puts the others in danger.

But when I get to the window, it’s not a werewolf standing there. (Crouching? Whatever werewolves do.) It’s a large black bird with an envelope clutched in its claws. I stare at it for a moment, and it stares back. 

Finally, I ease open the window as quietly as possible and take the envelope. The bird squawks at me, making me wince, then pecks me affectionately on the finger and flies away.

The envelope just says _Simon_ on the front, but it’s shimmering with magic—Penny’s magic. Sage. I breathe in the familiar scent.

Crowley, I miss her.

Around this time last year, I was at her house… and then it hits me what must be inside the envelope.

I open it carefully and pull out a red thread. A note flutters out along with it, and I hold it up to the moonlight, squinting as I read.

 _Sorry I can’t tie it on you myself this year,_ it says in Penny’s scribbly hand. _Mum says you need to get a girl to do it. Or you can wait until we get back to Watford, but I wanted to send it now anyway. Because it’s Raksha Bandhan, it’s special, and today more than ever you need to know you’re not alone. Wherever you are (Birmingham? I hit this letter so hard with finding spells I thought it was going to disintegrate). Love you, miss you, see you soon, Penny xx_

In the summers I feel so far away from everything. And I’m staring at this letter like I’m almost not convinced Penny is real—but here she is, pouring her magic into making sure I know someone cares.

I could send something back—the bird must know where she lives. I stick my head out and try to find it, but… it’s long gone. I wish it had stayed. I could at least tell Penny where I am, and that I’m alive—I know she worries about me in the summers.

I wind the red thread around my finger, then pull it off as a coiled bundle and tuck it safely into my pocket.

She’s here with me, just a little.

I lean onto the windowsill and read her letter again, and again, and again.

* * *

**August 2020**

**Simon**

I count out 51 pounds and slip them into a red envelope, then stick enough stamps to the back to cover international postage fees. I write out a small note— _“For always”—_ and place it in the envelope as well, then seal it up tightly.

I don’t know what Penny’s going to do with British currency over in America, but it’s the thought that counts.

A few days later, her envelope arrives in the mail, covered in stamps with little cowboy hats on them. (They’ve got to be Shepard’s—she’d never buy those herself. Or maybe she’s changed more than I thought.) I stare at it in mute surprise for a minute.

It’s not that I thought she’d forget. She’s never forgotten, not one year since we were thirteen and she first tied a _rakhi_ to me. But this year’s been busy for her, what with moving to America and all, and something’s… different.

We’ve grown up. We have our own lives and partners—we live on separate continents, for Merlin’s sake. We’re still close, but I no longer cling to Penny like a lifeline. Once, she was all I had. And I loved her desperately, because I knew I had to hold on to whatever was offered to me. I’d have done anything not to lose her.

Even two years ago, she’d never have moved to America. Because of me. I suppose it’s good that we both have other things and people in our lives now, enough that we can comfortably be away from each other without being sent into downward spirals.

But it still feels like I’m missing a limb, sometimes. Like I’m going about my day, totally fine, and then I need my right hand for something and I reach out reflexively and it’s just _not there._

She didn’t forget. She’d never forget, because it’s a sacred promise. And Penelope Bunce never breaks her promises.

I pull out the _rakhi—_ it’s a really beautiful one this year, the red threads interwoven with strands of gold—and a small note.

 _Even though I’m far away, you’ll always have me,_ it says. _For always._

Tears prick at my eyes.

It feels impossible that we’re apart, after everything. Like something’s off-kilter with the universe.

Who’s going to tie it onto my wrist this year?

This _rakhi_ is a physical reminder that Penny’s thinking of me. That at least she misses me as much as I miss her.

Penny loved me first.

Even when I had nothing and no one, she did. She chose me as her family when nobody else would. When I was a scared and lonely thirteen year-old who had been thrust into shoes too big for anyone to fill. 

I don’t think I fully comprehended the weight of that at the time. 

It was stupidly brave of her to make that declaration in front of her family and religion and everyone—to bind herself to the Chosen One for life, when no one thought I’d make it past eighteen. Stupidly brave; it’s what I love about her.

Because she’s reckless, sometimes. Because she’s not like me. She doesn’t ever run away from what she feels, she just confronts it head-on. And when she says something, it’s exactly what she means.

She was like that even at thirteen. And so I knew that what she’d said was stronger than any magickal oath. It meant the world to me.

I wouldn’t be here—happy and comfortable, at last—if it weren’t for Penny. It’s a debt that I can never hope to settle. (She wouldn’t ask me to. She’d say we don’t keep track. But how can you overlook something that enormous?)

I let myself cry, a little. Because I miss her. Because I still hear her voice in my head giving me advice. Because she’s so far away, but the scent of her magic is lingering on the envelope, filling my senses—sage and something more earthy, now, like the ground after it rains. Because I love her so comprehensively it feels impossible, sometimes. 

I’ll call her later. 

But for now, I stare at the red thread in my palm. And I think about a time, many years ago, when the unstoppable Penelope Bunce requisitioned a car, swept the country with spells, and against all odds, _found me—_ just to tell me she loved me like a brother.

* * *

Gorgeous, evocative art by the incredible [Palimpsessed!](<a%20href=)

**Author's Note:**

> August 3: Happy Raksha Bandhan! Hope you enjoyed the fic. (I may have gotten some dust in my eye while writing it.) This festival is really important to me, and performing the ceremony this morning with my own brother—tying on my own rakhi, as well as two for cousins who live halfway across the world—made me think about the idea of found family and the ways in which we can choose to honor our relationships. I've been wanting to write a Bunce-family Indian culture fic for a while, and celebrate the deep friendship between Simon and Penny, and this sort of poured out of me today.
> 
> If you'd like to read more about Raksha Bandhan, here are some links:  
> [Raksha Bandhan Overview](https://www.amritapuri.org/3539/rakshabandan.aum)  
> [ Culture & Heritage](https://knowindia.gov.in/culture-and-heritage/festivals/rakshabandhan.php)  
> [ Indian Holidays - Raksha Bandhan](http://www.calendarlabs.com/holidays/india/raksha-bandhan.php)


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